


Devil Hour

by nuitdemesreves (mesohorany)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Dangerous!Sex, M/M, Quickie, Sexytimes, When I say quickie I MEAN quickie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesohorany/pseuds/nuitdemesreves
Summary: Sex is dangerous when you're trying not to get caught, but Armie and Timothée don't care.





	Devil Hour

**Author's Note:**

> This is SUPER short, literally wrote it in ten minutes over on [my Tumblr](http://grapplemydrapple.tumblr.com/) for the 10 minute CMBYN challenge. My creative juices have been killed by work and study lately but this felt really good to hammer (wink wink) out. Was just kind of thinking about how it would look for the boys to have a secret fuck in Armie's house while his family sleeps unaware in the rooms surrounding them...
> 
> It's totally sloppy but I hope you guys enjoy :)

Dangerous. That’s what this is. The calm, assured wickedness of 3 am, the dark curling like wind around their fingers and down the lines of their spines, cajoling. _This isn’t wrong. This is nothing but right_.

Of course they’ll only recognize it as a lie when that angel of morality sunrise comes to visit once again.

The room is saturated by night. Timothée has nearly bitten through Armie’s lower lip trying to stop himself shouting out. His skin is scraped raw from the wall at his back and his gut is emitting those tendrils of stardust that announce an orgasm is eminent as Armie fills him up, every inch, with the heat and throb of his needy cock. Slender alabaster thighs tied neatly around roped-muscle hips, bones blading together, Armie’s moans silenced by the sweaty skin of Timothée’s shoulder. Armies huge hands splayed one against the wall for balance and the other around the arrow-arches of Timothée’s heaving ribcage. Around them, the house sleeps. Armie’s family will never know what he does with his Sweet Tea during the devil’s hour, and Timothée couldn’t muster fucks if they ever did.

Timothée brushes his lips against Armie’s ear, flicks his tongue in, husks:

“Cum in me.”

Armie growls like a wolf, predatory in his basest need, and the hand gripping Timothée’s ribs goes to his seeping cock, pounding against Armie’s slick belly.

“If you cum on me.”

“I know you know how to make me,” says Timothée, raspy filth of a whisper, and Armie rucks his hips up so Timothée cries out, full to the brim, his cock twitching in Armie’s hand as it weeps precum. One stroke, two strokes, in time with Armie’s huge cock inside of him, and then he’s digging rough teeth into copper skin and swimming through the iridescent haze of his climax, nerves yodeling, stomach clenching. He whines, “ _fuck_ ” into Armie’s skin and before he’s even half finished Armie is shuddering, spilling deep into the crevice of him, gasping because he can’t shut it up, can’t silence how fucking good it is, how dirty. Because both of them, they like danger, get off on it. How impossible their relationship would be if they could not thrive in peril.


End file.
